


Around You I Might Have a Chance

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xan has something to tell you, but circumstances keep getting in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Around You I Might Have a Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blueinkedfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueinkedfrost/gifts).



> _Baldur's Gate_ characters do not belong to me and I am making no money off this work of fan fiction.
> 
> * * *

You’re bleeding heavily when Xan approaches you and strikes up with, “I’d like to talk to you about something important,” which is why your response is, “This had better involve that shiny blade of yours having healing powers.”

He mutters something about talking another time and steps back to let Branwen get to you. Jaheira is right on her heels and the two of them snarl over who gets to heal you. It would be funny if you weren’t lying in a pool of what feels like a gallon and counting of your own blood.

Eventually Jaheira wins, right as you start wondering whether Xan’s blade wouldn’t be the preferable option even without any potential secret healing abilities.

There aren’t really any great times to just sit down and chat on this journey, especially not when Xan’s hardly the chillest person to talk to at the best of times. Still, his dourness is a nice counterpoint to the Dynamic Duo—Minsc and Boo, who never shut the fuck up. Especially when it becomes apparent that a field trip to the gnoll stronghold isn’t all that high on your agenda. He gets really pissy then—the ranger, not the hamster, although the latter’s probably pretty ticked off as well. Minsc is sometimes careless about how much he flails when he’s in a bad mood. To put it mildly.

So you forget about Xan for a little while, at least in that sense; it’s hard to forget someone entirely when he’s firing off dire charms, or sweet-talking someone on your group’s behalf (surprising that someone so down in the mouth has such a compelling way with the merchants), or nearly dying _yet again_ because he _will_ insist on running into combat with his moonblade instead of sitting safely out of the way and spellcasting.

 

The next time Xan approaches you is when you’re trying to restring your shortbow. The string has snapped back across your knuckles twice now, and you’re not happy about it.

“I’d still like to talk to you,” he says.

“Can you help me with this?” you ask, leaning on the bowstave to bend it.

His fingers are deft, slipping the string back in place readily.

“I just wanted—”

“ _Down_!” you yell, shoving him to the ground. You get one second to see the stricken look on his face as you nock an arrow—as if you’d execute someone up close with an _arrow_ , good gods—and five seconds to aim and shoot and kill the raving gibberling that’s come barreling out of the treeline.

During the ensuing melee, because of course there’s never just _one_ gibberling, you forget all about whatever it was that Xan wanted to discuss. Brushing dirt off his robes afterward, looking remarkably rattled, it seems he’s forgotten as well.

 

One morning you wake up and he’s beside you, a hand on your shoulder as much to pin you down so you don't attack him as to shake you awake.

“You were screaming in your sleep.” His voice holds just a hint of a tremor. “I thought I’d best wake you before you went hoarse.”

“Or before someone killed you to shut you up,” Jaheira grumbles from across the fire.

It’s not really morning yet, you realize, but pre-dawn; the light you’d mistaken for sunlight is the last embers of the fire, and maybe you can get back to sleep before your mind realizes your body’s been roused.

“Were you dreaming?” Xan asks.

“Must’ve been.” You can’t remember it, if you were.

“Do you have nightmares often?”

“Not on purpose.”

 

He finally corners you at a time that’s mutually acceptable, when neither of you are dying or dreaming or being attacked (well, unless you count Minsc snoring as an attack, and who doesn’t?).

“Can we talk now?” he asks tentatively.

You stifle a yawn with the back of your hand. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Elf,” he reminds you.

“Of course.” You move over on the rock you’re using as your watchtower. “What’s on your mind?”

“I wanted to thank you again for rescuing me.” He gazes out across the forest in the general direction of Nashkel. “Those mines were most dismal.”

“I got that impression.”

“They lowered my spirits immensely.”

“You don’t say.”

He does something with his lips. You’re _think_ he’s smiling, but you haven’t seen it before, so you’re not a hundred per cent positive. “But being with you and the others, as motley a band as we may be, has made me feel ever so much better.”

“...better?” Is he sure? Is he _joking_? Does he even know _how_ to joke?

“Yes, indeed. Before you met me I was prone to pessimism and depression. It’s so nice to feel that the future is bright and promising, and I have you all to thank for that.”

This is coming from the person who, not three hours ago, declared that if you didn’t make it through the forest soon, he was going to have to leave the group because the majesty of the trees was making him feel insignificant in the grand scheme of life as you know it. Who, _this morning_ , declared he was amazed that you’d all survived to see another dawn. Who’s spent the last week keeping up a running commentary on the uselessness of certain dimwitted sword-flailers (Khalid), certain snooty tree-huggers (Jaheira) and certain noisy rodents (Boo, although possibly Minsc; you’re not sure).

“I’m glad that being with us has improved your morale so much,” you say, managing to keep the sarcasm out of your voice only by a sheer effort of will.

“As am I,” he says fervently. “I had given up all hope of rescue, all desire to cling to life. But now my spirits are so uplifted! I can’t thank you enough for bringing me out of that awful place.”

“Sure, Xan. I’m really happy you’re so... so happy now.” You bite the inside of your lip. These things  _are_ all a matter of perspective but oh, it's  _so_ hard to hold back your laughter.

He reaches out and gives you a tentative hand-squeeze. “Anyway. That was all I wanted to say. I intend to tell the others how good I feel; I wanted you to know first. You are our leader, after all.”

“Well. Thank you, Xan. I appreciate that.”

You manage to wait until he’s climbed back down the rock and rejoined the camp before letting loose your laughter, but it’s a close thing.


End file.
